I was at a couple of meetings recently where members talked about the slippery slope of relapse that starts long before one picks up a drink. One person spoke about an obsession with tiramisu cake and the temptation to eat all the way down to the layer made with liquor. Another person described the selfish act of picking up a drunk person at a bar for a hook-up, only thinking of themselves (I want what I want when I want it). I've got nothing against sex between consenting adults, or cake for that matter. What I was struck by in listening to these stories (and similar tales over the years) is the lengths our disease, as in dis-ease, will go to to distract us from the pain and accountability required to grow in our program, and as human beings.

I think it was Marieanne Williamson who wrote that there is really only one journey - we're either moving towards God, or away. It takes an emotional commitment to stay on the path. I think of all the times I used caffeine, or the rush of an attraction, or sugar, to distract me from the hard work of digging deep into causes and conditions. The book tells us that "liquor is but a symptom" of our deeper spiritual malady. And if we're not using liquor, that malady often pops up in the form of a credit card or strip club or casino, or, yes, tiramisu, telling us that just this once will be ok. No one will know. My spouse won't care/find out. I don't really need to talk with my sponsor about this urge inside that is telling me to run, whether that urge is to run towards the flame, or away from responsibility and the pain inherent in looking at our deep inventory.

And, oh, how I wish that the surrender required for inner peace could be forced, conjured up on demand. But just like with the booze and drugs, I have to get sick and tired of being sick and tired. If I don't hurt, or see how my actions hurt others, I can continue to justify nearly anything. Years and years ago, a short-term sponsor questioned my busyness, my activity level. I am happier when active, and there was a point in time when my schedule was way too full and I used home like a hotel, for changing clothes, grabbing a bite and heading off to the next thing. Until I came to my own realization that I was running away from myself, I thought my sponsor was off-base. You don't know what you know until you know it.

And I will keep saying it (and I'm aware that much of this post is revisiting the topic) - the work of recovery is hard and often painful. Past hurts, emotionally challenging childhoods, shame, guilt over our misdeeds, inter-generational trauma, grief and loss are the type of emotions that I drank over. Not intentionally, but as an unconscious choice to numb what was too painful to look at. Too painful to look at without the support of the Steps, and a sponsor, and outside help to lead me to an awareness of how the past impacted my present. Painful, definitely. Worth it? Without a doubt.

I can't tell you how many times I've sat on the backyard bench, sobbing, journaling, smudging, lighting candles, praying, "Please, HP, relieve me of the bondage of self," and whatever other obsession I was in bondage to at the moment - a love interest, my childhood, a decision about a job situation... And then, boom! The dam would break. Not necessarily while I was begging, but at some point there would come a crack in the armor of self-defending, that little sliver where the light of God could shine through and let me know that, despite my fears to the contrary, I really am ok and that everything would work itself out. And it does, time and time again.

As I've mentioned, some friends and I are planning our 50th eighth grade reunion, which has resulted in some fun connections as we locate long lost classmates. Well, last night I had a dream that I was at the reunion, drinking a beer. In the dream, one of my sober classmates said, "You're drinking?!" to which I replied, "Sure. I have a beer about once a year. It's not a big deal." I went on to justify by saying, "Well, I wouldn't drink a shot of vodka or anything," but in my mind, in the dream, I thought, "Geez, have I really been drinking all along? Can I still claim 32 years of sobriety if I have a beer now and then?" The mind is an interesting place. Alcoholism is an interesting illness. Here I am, with a great life, one day at a time, dreaming about having a beer. The good news is that for years now, when I do dream about getting high, I have a conscience and realize that I shouldn't be doing it.

I don't see drinking dreams as part of the slippery slope, but a reminder, along with hearing people talk about their own near-misses or how they are dipping their toe into the waters of addiction, that I am not cured. Remaining mindful, being willing to look below the surface, and doing my best to stay centered means that, today, I don't have many demons lurking in the wings. Time is not a tool, and doing a ton of recovery work over the years has contributed to a healthy, reasonably happy, life, one day at a time.

I'm thinking about gratitude on this sunny afternoon in the Pacific Northwest - gratitude for what I've learned from my history, gratitude that I'm not battling with secrets, and gratitude for what is today. What are you grateful for?